Trojan Horse
by Sherlock Emrys
Summary: Sherlock vanishes and John is not surprised. After 48 hours, however, he's worried enough to call in an old friend - the Doctor. Together, they track down the disappearing detective, but all is not as it seems, and Sherlock has been captured by the Doctor's most feared enemies... the Daleks. No slash, all family friendly.


**AN: This is a WhoLock fic, and it's based on a total crack premise but I swear, it's not really crack. Much.**

**I have tons of other stuff to write so why did I do a 10000 word wholock oneshot? I don't know. Sorry.**

**Don't own. Everything is the BBC's. Enjoy!**

**Also - I wasn't at all sure how to format the Dalek's speech patterns to make it clear that they are sounding like, well, Daleks - that screechy noise is normally denoted as CAPS, but I don't know if that just annoys people. Feedback please?**

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**Trojan Horse**

**A Wholock Fic**

The Dalek ship wheeled past the Sun, turning carefully on its axis and shooting behind Luna. It carefully established a geosynchronous orbit and hovered, out of sight, on the dark side of the moon.

Inside the ship – cold, stark metal, bristling with weaponry, a harbinger of death and destruction wherever it chose to blight the lives of planets – on the bridge, the Daleks whirred and glided across the floor. Some were stationed at consoles, readings flashing across the screens.

One Dalek in particular stood out. It was taller than the others, and it had a dark blue casing. It glided smoothly across the floor, halting at a podium.

'WHAT NEWS?' intoned the Dalek on that platform. This one was tall and red – a Dalek Supreme.

The dark blue Dalek inclined its single eye in a gesture of respect. 'THE PLAN IS IN PLACE.'

'YOU ARE NOT TAINTED?'

'I HAVE BEEN CLEARED OF THE HUMAN CONTAGION.'

The Dalek Supreme whirred in contentment. 'I MUST SEE THE REPORTS.'

It hummed and clicked. If the view through its single, bright blue eye had been visible, then a viewer could have seen spiky text scrolling up it.

'YOU ARE CORRECT.' It turned its gaze onto the blue Dalek once again. 'CONTINUE. THE PLANS ARE IN PLACE?'

'EVERYTHING IS READY.'

The Dalek Supreme dipped its eyestalk in agreement. It looked up at the great windows at the bow of the ship, gazing out into space. Its eyestalk whirred as it focussed on the distant star. 'THEN WE WAIT FOR THE DOCTOR.'

The blue Dalek bowed an eyestalk and whirred backwards, reversing neatly and heading out of the door. It glided into the lift shaft and was carried down to the bowels of the ship.

Deep in the heart of the vessel, the intelligence that drove the blue Dalek was sleeping. Or rather, the body that had once housed it was.

The cryogenics lab was deserted. There was no work to be done here and security cameras gazed unblinkingly over the white, chill room.

There were rows of pods lined up against one wall. Most were empty. One was fogged up with the warmth of the body inside and a little green light glowed beside a display panel showing scrolling stats.

The electronic tag on the top of the pod read _Sherlock Holmes._

_Earth 7 Days Earlier_

Sherlock was missing. John would have been more worried if this was a rarer occurrence. As it was, with no case on right now he was hardly surprised and frankly a little bit relieved. At least he had some peace and quiet.

Of course, if Sherlock really was missing for a good reason – as in, kidnapped, dead or injured – then he, John, would regret being glad. But as it was – and with _plenty_ of precedent – he wasn't all that fussed.

John sat quietly in his armchair and sipped a cup of tea, opening up the laptop – which was exactly where he'd left it, and not under a pile of experimental data recorded, for some reason, on sheets of paper torn from a notebook, or in the sink, acting as part of an experiment into electrocution (he'd had to get a new one and he hadn't spoken to Sherlock for a month). He tapped the keyboard absently for a moment before opening up his private records – not his blog. Some things just couldn't be put onto the internet to be broadcast to the general public.

_John's diary_

I'm updating this instead of the blog because I've only just got away from the psychiatrist and I don't particularly want to be sent back. And frankly, even by Sherlock standards, this is insane.

It all happened last month. It's taken me a while to process it so I'm only just writing this down. And when Sherlock inevitably hacks this computer and decides to read this – Hi, Sherlock – I'd just like to say that he's vanished again which means I actually have time to write, another factor in why this has taken so long. Normally I don't get much room between running for my life and dealing with Sherlock (often the two are synonymous).

So. Last month. There was a murder case, which is par for the course, and the victim was killed by shrapnel from an explosion. It looked like a small explosive detonated right by his head, causing severe cranial trauma, a subarachnoid haemorrhage and fatal injuries to the brain and spinal cord. Also whiplash.

So far, so normal. The room he was in was locked from the inside – yes, really – and it had one window, which was glued shut and had not been opened. We can be certain about this because Sherlock checked it and unfortunately he _is _usually right, which is a shame because it only inflames his ego. No fancy gimmicks with a nail or catch a la Poe, just a window which had been sealed shut.

So. Dead body, locked room, explosive.

Of course, the police had already considered a detonator outside. But the problem was that the man must have been _holding _the explosive in front of his face to cause this much damage, since there was nobody in the room. Which was quite unlikely unless the explosive was very well disguised.

That, of course, pointed to terrorist activity. The one problem being that the victim – Francis Spall – was nothing to do with any kind of terrorist activity and since he was an unemployed former cashier, not a likely target either.

Sherlock was overjoyed. 'Locked room mystery and an unknown terrorism connection! My ideal Christmas present.' Which is just like him, and a bit tasteless given that it _was _Christmas and I for one would have far rather _not_ spent it doing this.

Anyway.

The case itself was a bit horrendously complicated from the perspective of a sane and rational human being, but I'm not entirely sure that Sherlock is one of those and the Doctor definitely isn't.

We met the Doctor whilst we were investigating this case, which doesn't really have a name yet because it's a bit totally insane. It turns out that Francis Spall was killed by an exploding bauble.

Yes, that's right.

Sherlock had noticed – in all due fairness, so had I, it's kind of hard to miss – the giant Christmas tree standing fully decorated in the corner of Spall's room. Given that this case began very early in December, I'm still not certain why the thing was up that early, but obviously working in a shop had had an effect on Francis Spall and he was working on Tesco Time, in which Christmas begins halfway through November. Anyway, apparently the baubles on said tree were filled with explosive and also radio controlled, so the robot Santas standing outside the window could make them fly.

The sad part is that I'm not making this up.

Anyway, long story short, Francis Spall was killed by these alien Santa things because he had happened to witness something. I'm not totally sure what but they were trying to keep him quiet, which worked, but unfortunately for them got Sherlock involved, and if you're trying to take over the world he's the second-to–last person you want to get involved. Yes, Sherlock, second, because the Doctor is the go-to guy for world saving. You're the go-to guy for crime solving.

The Doctor did explain it all, very fast, and then Sherlock explained it all again, even faster, so I can't really do it justice, but basically the robot Santas had been enslaved by an alien – yes, alien – Emperor who wanted to turn the Earth into jelly. I mean, not the kind you eat, petroleum jelly for fuel. It doesn't really make it any less stupid.

And the Doctor – he's an alien too. An actual, real alien. I'd always suspected that some non-human beings must be among us, but that's because I live with Sherlock. The thought is bound to cross one's mind. But him – he really, really is properly, weirdly alien. He has two hearts, which on its own wouldn't convince me, but he also has a spaceship and he took me and Sherlock back in time to see Victorian London, which was very nearly a disaster in its own right – the Doctor had to wipe some memories to deal with the whole thing because Sherlock being Sherlock had to go and start solving murders and, well, I don't think that that Conan Doyle bloke ever quite got over it – and well, yes. He's an alien. An alien with a _quadruple_ closed circulatory system, mark you, and terrible taste in hats, but nonetheless an alien. With a time travelling spaceship.

It's always possible I'm going mad, I suppose. With Sherlock around it was only really a matter of time. But given that he saw the whole thing too, I'm choosing to believe that it was real.

So, in summary. There's a man – possibly – called the Doctor. He's an alien, from the planet Gallifrey, and he saves the world. He also has the ability to talk even faster than Sherlock does. He wears a bowtie and a variety of hats, each more terrible than the last, and if you ever meet him, be ready to run. He's a trouble magnet. Him and Sherlock together? You probably want to be somewhere else. Quite a long way away.

And that's how we met the Doctor. He said it wasn't the first time, which means we'll see him again, although I hope not for a while because it's enough trouble dealing with the messes that Sherlock gets us into.

And Sherlock is still missing. That makes… 24 hours now.

He'd better not have got kidnapped.

_Baker Street_

John saved the document and closed the laptop. 24 hours was long enough. It was just possible Sherlock had actually got into trouble this time.

He picked up his mobile and scrolled through the contacts list, which was depressingly short, until he found a number that probably _wasn't_ Mycroft's but which would get to him eventually.

To his surprise, it was picked up on the first ring and answered by Mycroft himself. John had been expecting a team of minions to be fielding his calls.

'Doctor Watson. How can I help you?'

John grimaced. Sherlock would probably kill him for going to Mycroft for help but there was nothing to be done about it. 'Do you know where Sherlock is?'

'Sadly, no. I was, in fact, considering asking you the same question.'

John felt a chill run down his spine. 'You haven't seen him?'

'Not for, oh, twenty hours or so.'

John nodded. 'And you have no idea where he might be.'

'None whatsoever. He is rather… unpredictable at times.'

John said nothing, thinking fast. If even Mycroft had no idea where Sherlock had gone, that quite possibly meant Trouble. With a capital T.

'He is not currently engaged upon a case,' Mycroft observed. 'And such of his enemies as are currently at large have been otherwise engaged of late.'

John frowned, opened his mouth and then shook his head. 'OK, whatever, I'll take your word for it. But something must have happened, then.'

There was brief silence on the other end of the line. 'I'll look into it. Rest assured you will be kept updated.'

'Have you checked hospital admissions? Knowing him he might have got knocked down by a cab. Or a cabbie.'

'Doctor Watson, I will _look into it._' There was an edge of steel in the older Holmes' voice. 'I will let you know as soon as I have pertinent information.'

John opened his mouth to respond and was met by a click on the line. Frowning in disbelief, he took the phone from his ear and looked at the screen.

'He hung up on me,' he announced to the flat at large in disbelief. 'He just – he _hung up!_'

Shaking his head in indignation, John stood up and pulled on a coat as he crossed the flat. Time to go looking.

_Dalek ship, 7 Days Later_

The blue Dalek that had once been Sherlock Holmes glided across the metal floor of the ship and returned to its workspace. The plan that it had put in place was very nearly complete and the Doctor could not fail to come.

What made the plan so very ingenious was that it was all there already. When Sherlock Holmes vanished, the Doctor would come looking. And when Sherlock Holmes called for help, he would come running.

And he would find himself in the middle of a Dalek spaceship with no way out.

It was ingenious. This was why the Daleks had needed Sherlock Holmes' mind. This plan was simple, unbreakable. It was so elementary that nothing could go wrong.

_Earth, 6 Days Earlier_

John sat in the empty flat and looked around. It was all neat and tidy. Everything was where it should be. There was no experiment cluttering up the kitchen, no mud stains or blood stains, he and only he was using his laptop and his phone and there was a total, complete, and awful absence of Sherlock.

Mycroft, true to his word, had phoned him with every fresh discovery of Sherlock's absence. He wasn't at the lab. He wasn't at the morgue. He wasn't at the Yard bothering the police. He wasn't at any crime scenes. He wasn't – and Mycroft hadn't been very optimistic but had checked in the interests of thoroughness – at his parent's house, nor had he tried to visit his brother (equally unlikely). Nobody matching his description had been reported dead, or arrived at any hospital, private or NHS. He hadn't boarded a plane or a train or a ferry; his credit card hadn't been used. His phone was either off or out of range. Sherlock Holmes had vanished.

Nobody had seen him. Nobody had heard from him.

John had given up searching for him himself quite quickly when he realised just how big London really was. And to be honest, they were running out of options.

John tapped his phone screen idly as he thought. On the one hand, it would only cause more trouble. On the other hand, there was a fair amount of trouble around already.

Slowly, he scrolled through his contacts list, skipping past Mycroft this time.

At almost the bottom of the list, one name stood out against the white screen. The contact sheet was almost totally blank.

_The Doctor_.

John made up his mind and pressed "Call". His phone bleeped and went to dialling.

_Calling The Doctor_.

John held the phone to his ear and waited. It took a while.

He was on the verge of hanging up when suddenly the phone clicked and a chirpy, excited voice came through.

'Doctor Watson! What can I do for you?'

'Doctor, is that you?'

'The one and only. Well. Actually, more like one of at least eleven. Oh, and the doppelganger. And the half-human. And the clones… alright, so, not the one and only, but a pretty darn good one. Good choice. How can I help?'

John shook his head. Some things, clearly, never changed. 'Doctor. We… I need your help.'

The Doctor's voice became more serious. 'What's happened?'

'It's Sherlock. He's vanished.'

The whirring, wheezing noise in the background of the call changed pitch and a clang echoed across the phone line.

'Vanished?'

'He's been gone for forty eight hours and we can't find him. Doctor, Mycroft can't find him. You've met him, haven't you?'

'If he can't find Sherlock, something bad must have happened.' John could almost _hear_ the bowtie being straightened. 'It takes a lot to make Sherlock Holmes disappear.'

'Well, actually he normally wanders off about once a month, but never for this long, and never this… totally gone.'

The noise of the spaceship picked up. John heard levers rachetting and buttons clunking.

'I'm on my way. Stay where you are.'

The call cut out, but before John could even lower the phone a wheezing, creaking noise filled the flat and a sudden breeze whipped up the papers lying on the table into a blizzard. The great big blue police box which the Doctor called a spaceship faded into existence in the corner of the flat, light flashing in synchrony with the groaning of the engines.

The TARDIS fell through into existence with a thunk and a clang as the engines grated to a halt. The door swung open with a creak and the Doctor, all mad grin and floppy hair and bowtie and oh, dear Lord, a _fedora_, stepped out.

'So, Doctor Watson,' he said with that worrying smile. 'Tell me about Sherlock Holmes.'

John had followed the Doctor into the TARDIS as, still talking, the alien expounded on his Plan to find Sherlock. As he walked, he removed that stupid fedora, throwing it onto a hat stand which looked totally out of place in the futuristic ship.

'—if I recalibrate the biosignal tracker and reverse the polarity of the extrapolator shielding, I should be able to lock on to his morphic signature and triangulate his location.'

John blinked in confusion. 'I understood all of those words, but when you put them together…'

'Never mind that now, John! I need, I need…' the Doctor was pushing buttons frantically as he pulled at bits of wire under the console with his other hand. The TARDIS beeped in protest. 'Oh, no, don't do that! Don't bleep at me, don't you dare bleep at me, old girl! You do not _bleep!_ That is not a TARDIS-y noise!'

The machine hummed louder.

'Yes, yes, I _know!_ Alright, alright, I won't reverse the polarity of the extrapolator shielding if it upsets you that much! Fine! It wouldn't have blown a _big_ hole in the universe anyway!'

The TARDIS gave another thrum.

'Yes, fine, you win, I won't do it. I'll just activate the enharmonic frequencer and step up the resonators on the differentializers-'

The TARDIS bleeped another protest. The Doctor's head popped up like a meercat.

'No! Nononononono! Not more bleeping! Stop it!'

He staggered back from the console, hands in his hair. 'Not enough power! I need to focus it. I need, I need… some kind of focus of morphic residue, something Sherlock had for years, something that will lead us straight to him… Something that would have picked up his biosignal. Something he'd handled, maybe, something he'd have had near him constantly.'

John, who was standing by the door observing this pantomime, quietly slipped out into the flat and cast his gaze around until he found the warm glint of old wood standing in a velvet case.

John grabbed up the violin – carefully, because Sherlock would kill him, quite possibly literally, if he were to break it – and its case, carrying it through the blue doors of the police box and into the console room.

The Doctor hadn't even noticed. He was striding around the console muttering to himself.

John cleared his throat and the Doctor looked up, as if he'd forgotten that the doctor was there.

John held up the violin case awkwardly. 'Would this do?'

The Doctor stared at it for a moment, then dived forwards and grabbed at it. John moved it away from him and the Timelord's hands grasped at empty air.

'This is Sherlock's violin. Break it or damage it in any way and he _will_ murder you, and I can guarantee that your body will never be found because he _can _kill without leaving any forensic evidence.'

The Doctor looked injured and frowned at John. 'I'll be very careful. I never damage anything. I'm perfectly capable of acting responsibly.'

John raised an eyebrow and the Doctor shrugged, caught out in a fairly blatant and shameless lie. With reluctance John handed over the violin, which the Doctor held with surprising care. The Timelord carried it over to the console, laying it neatly on a relatively flat surface and immediately winding wires around it, plugging things in here, there and everywhere.

John hovered, well aware of his own uselessness, as the Doctor jumped around like a hare on acid, pressing buttons and flicking levers.

'Right! Morphic signature trace acquired, locked on, temporal compensator activated and…' the Doctor's hand hovered over one final – looking lever. 'Ready?' He didn't wait for a response. 'Go!'

John grabbed at a console railing as the room shook, keeping his eyes on the violin, which seemed to be held in place by the wires.

The engines groaned and creaked, their familiar grinding song heralding the beginning of the flight through the vortex.

John clung to the barrier and yelled to the Doctor, who was still dashing around hitting things, 'Where are we going?'

'Who knows?' the Doctor yelled back. John rolled his eyes and clung on tighter.

_Earth 6 Days Later_

A glimmer of golden, swirling light appeared in the centre of the warehouse floor. It was a dank, empty, long forgotten space, bleak and industrial.

The tall blue Dalek that had once called itself Sherlock Holmes appeared as the teleport beam solidified.

It whirred forwards and settled down to wait behind a stack of pallets.

It didn't take long.

A familiar creaking, groaning sound echoed throughout the space and a blue box began to fade into reality.

When it finally landed, the doors swung open with a creak and the Doctor bounded out, looking around him.

'Oh. Well, that's anticlimactic. Empty warehouse. Boring empty warehouse. With a distinct lack of Sherlock Holmes which is odd because my TARDIS doesn't make mistakes and she says that he is right here.'

John followed him at a more sedate speed. 'Your TARDIS may not make mistakes, but you do.'

The Doctor spun around, affronted. 'How dare you! My driving is always perfect.'

'But we're here, and Sherlock isn't. QED,' John pointed out.

Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed around the warehouse.

'John, Doctor. Nice of you to join me.'

John started. 'That's Sherlock. Sherlock, where are you?'

The Doctor was frowning as he listened. He pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and began to spin slowly in a circle as he scanned.

'I am… indisposed at present.'

John took a step forwards, looking around. 'Sherlock, where have you been for the last – Doctor, what day is it?'

The Doctor took a break from scanning to look at his watch. 'One week since he disappeared.'

'A we- one _week?_ Sherlock, where have you been for the last week?' John demanded.

'I've been busy.'

The Doctor had nearly completed his circle and was pointing the screwdriver at a stack of pallets in one corner. He slowed, checking the readings. His face paled.

'John,' he began.

'Sherlock, where the hell are you? What are you doing?' John was demanding.

'John!'

'Not now, Doctor,' John said impatiently.

The Doctor grabbed John's shoulder. 'No, really, John, we have to go!'

'What? Why?' John complained as the Doctor began to drag him. He turned around to face the Timelord. 'What the hell are you going on about?'

There was a slight droning sound from behind him but John ignored it. 'Where's Sherlock, Doctor? What's happened to him?'

The Doctor was staring over John's shoulder with an urgent expression. 'John, seriously, we need to get back into the TARDIS _now_.'

John took one look at the Doctor's face and began to run towards the TARDIS. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the doors, the Doctor just ahead of him, and saw what had alarmed the alien that much.

It was a tall, menacing creature, built out of metal, all hard edges and angles, with an unmistakable air of menace in its smooth, efficient motions. It was most definitely not human and it reeked of death.

John stared at it for a moment. The Doctor grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the TARDIS, slamming the door as he did so.

John followed him further into the ship.

'What the hell was that thing?' he demanded.

'Dalek,' the Doctor said in a tone so vicious that John thought he was swearing in another language for a moment. 'They're aliens. Killers. If you're lucky then they might just shoot you.'

John nodded slowly. 'And if you aren't lucky?'

The Doctor looked away.

John grimaced. 'And what about Sherlock?'

The Doctor bounced back into life. 'Right! Yes, Sherlock. I'm going to do a scan, try to back up my initial findings, so _if _you'll excuse me…'

'You're stalling, Doctor,' John pointed out as he followed the Doctor to the console.

'Yes, and aren't I good at it? Now then, running a scan for life signs…'

The scanner screen flickered and settled. The Doctor twiddled the controls again, fine-tuning the focus.

'Now then, let's see what…' He stopped. His hand fell from the scanner onto the console as he stared at the screen.

'What is it?' John demanded.

The Doctor turned but didn't look at him. 'I'm sorry, Doctor Watson. John. I'm… so sorry.'

'What is it? What the hell?' John demanded as he stared at the screen. 'I can't read that, Doctor, now _tell me what it says!'_

The Doctor gazed at the scanner again. It seemed to be easier than meeting John's eyes.

'Life forms registering in this vicinity. One Dalek. Identification scan on brainwaves…' he looked at John for the first time. 'Sherlock Holmes.'

The Dalek stood patiently outside the blue police box. Not moving, not shooting, not communicating. Just waiting.

Eventually, its persistence paid off. The blue door creaked open a fraction and the Doctor stuck his head through the gap.

'Er, hello again,' he called. When no shots were fired, he opened the door a little further and stepped out. 'Hi. I'm the Doctor, but you already knew that so I don't know why I'm telling you this. Could you confirm your identity please?'

The Dalek's eye focussed with a screech. When it spoke, the lights on the dome flashed as usual, but the voice was not the usual harsh screech of the Dalek race. It was a familiar, smooth, deep male voice and it was irritated. 'You already know who I am, Doctor. Kindly stop wasting my time.'

The Doctor tipped his head on one side. 'And I'd say that that's all the proof I needed that that's Sherlock. What about you, Doctor Watson?'

John's voice echoed from inside the TARDIS. 'Sounds like him. Sherlock, we brought your violin.'

The Dalek rolled forwards a tad and the Doctor stepped back. 'Very thoughtful of you, John, but as you may have noticed I am not currently in the possession of arms. So, a bit useless.'

John appeared at the door. 'Oh, it's him all right.'

'As I thought,' the Doctor confirmed. 'So, Sherlock, what happened?'

The Dalek was silent for a while. When it spoke, Sherlock's voice was thoughtful. 'There was an … incident. I woke up in…' the Dalek moved back and forth a bit and wiggled its gun and sucker in what was clearly meant as a look-at-me gesture. 'I'm not… sure what happened to me.'

The Doctor leaned on the TARDIS with a face like thunder. 'Oh, I know. The Daleks, like the cowardly, stupid pepper pots that they are, they couldn't even be bothered to do their own thinking. So they stole someone else to do it for them.' He pushed away from the TARDIS, still gesticulating. 'I've seen this before. Sometimes they find a human – clever humans, intelligent, creative, _brilliant _humans-' Sherlock the Dalek was visibly preening. It's difficult to say how a Dalek can give off an aura of smugness, but he was managing. '- and they take that brain, that mind, all that wonderful thinking, and they scoop it out and lock it in a Dalek.'

'So you're saying that my flatmate has been turned into a killer alien,' John stated. He put his head in his hands. 'Why am I not even surprised at this?'

'Ah, _but_,' the Doctor said, raising a finger. 'They can't just lock a human in a Dalek straight away. They'd go mad. And anyway a Dalek hasn't any use for all the… human bits. Love. Friendship. Kindness. Mercy.'

'Well, that explains why they went after Sherlock,' John muttered under his breath.

'So, they take all those bits and they lock them up in the back of their mind because if they don't…' The Doctor's face grew darker. 'If they don't,' he whispered partly to himself. 'they just curl up inside their own minds and tell stories to keep the darkness at bay.'

'Which obviously has not happened to me,' Sherlock said coolly. 'I believe, Doctor, that there is a way out of this predicament.'

The Doctor looked up. 'Oh, really?' he said, his voice suddenly harsh. He strode forwards, looking the Dalek in the eyestalk. 'Oh, really. See, that's where you made your mistake. You took the voice of my friend, you took his mind, you burned away all the things that made him human and then you have the nerve to turn around and try to fool me, try to tell me that _this can be reversed_!' He took a step back, still glowering, but lowered his voice. 'Now, you tell me what you really want, what you're really after, or I will burn you. I will find you and your little Dalek friends and I will burn every last one of you, wipe you from the universe, hunt you down like the insects that you are.' His voice changed to a kind of scathing, dismissive laughter as he spat, 'Creation's cosmic joke! The Daleks, the intergalactic cockroaches, never dying no matter how much I stamp on you.' The Doctor turned away.

'You are mistaken, Doctor,' Sherlock's voice said calmly. The Doctor stopped, his face twitching as he heard the human voice echoing from the Dalek shell.

'Mistaken,' he whispered to himself. The Timelord spun around. 'I am mistaken? Mistaken? Go on then!' He spread his arms wide. 'Tell me how I am mistaken, Dalek!' He spat the last word at the impassive machine.

The Sherlock-Dalek just whirred forwards a little and looked him as much in the eye as it could.

'I am Sherlock Holmes, Doctor, and I need your help.'

John broke the silence. 'Doctor, if he's asking for help you know it's serious.'

The Doctor glowered for a moment, indecisive. Then he threw up his arms in a gesture of defeat. 'Fine! Fine. I'll play your game, see what you want from me.'

The Sherlock-Dalek whirred in acquiescence. 'Excellent. My body is on the Dalek ship in cryogenic suspension. If we can awaken it then my consciousness can be replaced in my own form, and I can leave this Dalek body.'

The Doctor spun around again, frowning at the Dalek. 'You are Sherlock Holmes?'

'We've already covered this, Doctor, keep up,' Sherlock snapped.

'You are the human being called Sherlock Holmes and you are human enough still to want to escape the Dalek form.'

'Are you going to repeat my words all night or are we going to get something done?'

'Why is your mind still intact?' the Doctor said pensively, staring at the Dalek. 'Why are you still in there?'

John stepped forwards, glad to re-enter the conversation. 'Maybe they didn't want to damage his mind by taking out his emotions.'

The Doctor didn't look around. 'No… no, that can't be it. The Daleks are clever, in their own way. At least, they learn. Well. Sometimes. They know that if they leave the human side of a converted victim intact, they go mad. They break down. They are hostile, untrustworthy, cluttered up by human instincts and loyalties. That's why this procedure is so rare.'

'Can't you just be glad that Sherlock's OK? Well, mostly OK.' Even as John said it he knew that it was a useless protest. The Doctor wouldn't give up when he found a mystery to be solved, any more than Sherlock himself.

'They tried,' Sherlock snapped. John watched the Dalek as it talked, unable to reconcile it with his friend's voice. 'I didn't let them.'

'And they didn't notice?' The Doctor was incredulous still.

Sherlock's voice was scornful. 'I'm very clever.'

The Doctor frowned. 'Clever enough to fool an entire ship full of Daleks and scans and technology so advanced that you could have no possible conception of it? That's not possible. Not for a human being.'

'I'm not most people, Doctor. You forget.'

John nodded. 'This is Sherlock we're talking about. He's an exception to almost everything.'

The Doctor sighed, then closed his eyes. 'Of all the humans in all the Earth, there is only a handful with that kind of mental capacity.'

'Yes, and of course Sherlock would be one of them,' John added supportively.

The Doctor raised his hands. 'Fine! Fine, I give in. John, if we all die horribly and the Daleks conquer reality destroying everything which does not fit the Dalek paradigm, it is your fault, are we clear?'

John shrugged. 'Crystal.'

'Right.' The Doctor seemed reinvigorated by the decision, and the removal of responsibility. He rubbed his hands together as he paced. 'Sherlock, your body is in the cryogenics chamber?'

'Correct. I have a schematic of the ship stored in my internal memory.' The Dalek whirred forwards and raised its gun. John flinched and the Doctor, out of habit, dived for cover, but rather than fire on them the Dalek turned through ninety degrees and fired a beam of blue light that formed a floating diagram.

John blinked in surprise. 'That's new.'

The Doctor walked forwards cautiously. 'Yes. Yes, it is.' He reached out a hand and gingerly poked the schematic. It bobbed and spun at his touch.

'The cryogenics chamber is here,' announced Sherlock, and a section of the diagram pulsed red. 'It is currently empty and will remain so for the foreseeable future. However, it is monitored by security cameras.'

The Doctor manipulated the airborne schematic expertly, pulling apart the ship layer by layer to focus on the chamber. 'So, how long would we have?'

'The nearest Daleks would be here-' A nearby room lit up green. '-or possibly here.' Another room throbbed yellow. 'Between thirty and fifty seconds.'

The Doctor pulled at the red chamber, which enlarged to show details such as the pods and the door. 'That door. How is it sealed?'

'Deadlock seal. Can be opened by any Dalek with clearance.'

'Do you have clearance?'

'No. But I can open it.'

The Doctor nodded slowly. 'Let me guess. You hacked the Dalek mainframe.'

Sherlock gave an air of shrugging, despite a lack of shoulders. 'It was only a little more difficult than the Pentagon.'

John opened his mouth to complain, closed it a few times, and pointed a finger. 'You hacked the _Pentagon_?'

'I was bored.'

'You were – Sherlock, you hacked the most secure network in the entire planet because you were bored?'

'You didn't seem to care at the time.'

'I didn't _know_ at the time! Mycroft probably knows, you know that.'

'Mycroft doesn't know anything.'

'He came to you asking for help finding the hacker!'

'Thus, he knows nothing. QED. Are you finished, John? We have a mission to plan.'

John opened and closed his mouth a few more times, then subsided.

'So. Deadlock seal. I can open it but more importantly I can lock it behind me.'

'How long?'

'It'll give you another two minutes.'

'So we have three minutes tops.'

'That should be long enough.'

'And if we do remove your body, Sherlock, what then?' John asked. 'If it's been comatose for a week you won't be able to walk. Muscle degeneration. Is it being fed? What about brain damage?'

'Cryogenic suspension,' the Doctor said without looking around. He touched one of the pods on the schematic and text began to scroll through the air beside it. 'It's actually not cryogenic at all, a bit of a misnomer really. It's more like he's been frozen temporally.'

'That's what cryogenics means, Doctor,' John said impatiently.

'No, no, you weren't listening. Temporally, nor temporarily. He's been taken out of time. His body is frozen in the second that his mind left it. As far as his body is concerned no time has passed.'

'So no muscle degeneration? No need for food or oxygen?' John asked. He tried to follow the text but it was scrolling too fast.'

'Well, not really. See, you can't take someone _totally_ out of time, not any more, not since the Time War. The entire fabric of Time and Space has been stretched too far, like a coat that's been altered too much. Try to mess with it too much and it'll all just, sort of, pull apart.'

John frowned. 'Really?'

'Well, no, but if it helps, yes. Anyway, time is just really, really slow for him. It's kind of like leaving his body on the event horizon of a black hole. So there's going to be some damage, especially given the trauma caused by pulling someone's entire essence out of their body and then putting it back again. It's not like bluetack, you can't just move a soul around and stick it on all kinds of stuff. It's more like that whitetack stuff. It sticks to one thing, but if you try and take it off, it all gets torn apart and takes parts of the thing it was stuck to with it.'

'I think I understood that.'

'Good, because it was a really convenient lie.' The Doctor started pacing again, the schematic still spinning in the air in front of him.

'If you're quite finished,' Sherlock said impatiently. 'Doctor, you bring the TARDIS to the ship, landing in the chamber. Deactivate the pod and pull my body out, take it back to Earth and then I can return to it.'

'Hang on,' John said quickly. ' What happens to your Dalek body, or whatever that is, when you leave it?'

'It dies,' Sherlock said bluntly. 'It doesn't have a soul of its own. The only thing keeping it here is me.'

'Well, you can't do that,' John protested. 'I mean, you've got to find a way of leaving it alive.'

The Doctor stopped pacing for a moment. 'Doctor Watson, have you ever faced a Dalek?'

John was taken aback. 'No.'

'Be grateful and don't ever try saving one's life. I did that once. Big mistake,' the Doctor said bitterly as he resumed pacing.

'There is one more thing,' Sherlock said coolly. The Doctor stopped.

'Well?'

'I am currently assigned on a mission. The Dalek Supreme ordered my capture for one purpose, Doctor, and you know what that was.'

The Doctor turned to face the Dalek slowly. 'To kill me.'

John, in the background of this little drama, watched with confusion and some horror.

The Dalek dipped its eyestalk. 'Correct. Every scheme that the Daleks have had has failed. They needed a human intellect to create a trap to catch you.'

The Doctor's tone was sour and angry as he spat, 'The perfect bait. A friend.'

'The plan that I formulated was brilliant.' Sherlock spoke without a trace of self-deprecation. 'I would go missing. You would come looking. I would call for help. You would come and rescue me. You would arrive on a ship full of Daleks, ready to be captured.'

The Doctor straightened his bowtie and looked the Dalek in the eyestalk. 'Well, here's a tip, Mr Genius Dalek. Next time you set a trap, don't explain it to the victim.'

With that he strode quickly back to the TARDIS, expecting at any moment to hear the harsh cry of EXTERMINATE and hear the whine of a laser bolt shooting past his ear.

'Doctor, wait!' John jogged after him and caught his sleeve. 'If this was a normal Dalek it would have shot you ages ago. Just wait and let Sherlock finish!'

The Doctor glared at him for a moment, then turned and glared at the Dalek instead. 'Well?'

'When you arrive on the ship the cryogenics room will be shielded. As soon as the TARDIS materialises they will activate an artron loop, which will interact with the polarising current to create a force field.'

'A trap,' the Doctor said forcefully. 'The TARDIS can't breach a field run by artron energy. That's her fuel.'

'Exactly.'

The Doctor frowned. 'I can make a way out.'

'Exactly.' Sherlock's voice was smug. 'If my understanding of your TARDIS is correct, then by creating a temporal link to something outside the force field you should be able to redirect the current through the fourth dimension, leaving a hole in the shield.'

'It would be difficult to fly the old girl through a hole that size,' the Doctor said challengingly.

'Use the Rift,' Sherlock said smugly.

The Doctor took a step forwards. ' How do you know about that?'

'I know everything.' The Dalek whirred towards them, shutting off the projected schematic. 'Can you do it?'

The Doctor straightened his bowtie. 'Bring it on.'

The cryogenics chamber was cold and still. The deathly peace was broken only by blinking lights and the soft whirr of machines.

A moment later, the silence was shattered by the arrival of the TARDIS. Its grating engines pushed the battered Ship through the Time Vortex and into reality.

As it landed, the doors swung open. Sherlock-the-Dalek rolled out of them with as much speed as he could muster, which wasn't a huge amount since Daleks are top heavy and permanently in danger of toppling, and moved towards the door. It extended its sucker attachment, hovering it over the door control, and hummed as Sherlock, focussed on the controls, began to re-seal the door.

It was done in ten seconds.

Two minutes twenty remaining.

John and the Doctor, meanwhile, had sprinted out of the TARDIS right behind the Dalek and scanned the line of pods instantly, quickly picking out the one containing Sherlock.

John cleared the glass as best he could, trying to determine if there were any obvious injuries, as the Doctor – sonic screwdriver screeching away in one hand, pushing buttons furiously with the other – overrode the controls of the pod.

Ten seconds later, the door popped open with a hiss and a gust of cold air billowed out.

Two minutes ten.

Sherlock was lying in a depression in the cold, white pod, limp and pale. He was wearing his dark blue coat and scarf and looked almost as if he were asleep, or dead.

John hauled his dead weight out of the pod and began to drag him to the TARDIS. The detective was annoyingly tall and his feet dragged on the ground, but for once his bizarre eating habits (or lack thereof) were a source of gratefulness to John, because Sherlock was light enough that he could manage him alone. The Doctor was dancing along beside them scanning Sherlock with the sonic screwdriver.

'Any serious problems?' John asked tersely.

'Slight dehydration, lack of energy. He's breathing, but only just, and his pulse rate is down,' the Doctor answered abstractedly.

One minute fifty.

They got him into the TARDIS and John looked around the console room desperately. 'Do you have a sickbay?'

The Doctor finished scanning Sherlock and retracted the screwdriver with a flick of his wrist. 'Up those stairs, left, right, blue door.'

John nodded and shouldered his friend again. The Doctor jogged back to the doors. 'Aren't you going to help?' John called over his shoulder.

'Other things to do,' the Doctor called back.

John muttered a swearword but kept going.

Outside the TARDIS, Sherlock-the-Dalek was keeping station by the police box doors. The Doctor joined him.

'How long?'

'ONE MINUTE THIRTY,' grated the Dalek. The Doctor jumped back warily. The Dalek rotated its eyestalk in a manner that suggested eyerolling. 'One minute thirty. I'm busy and it's the default,' Sherlock's voice snapped.

'Busy? Doing what?' The Doctor crept forwards cautiously, scanning the doors with the sonic as he did so. 'You should have left the casing by now, you should be back in your body.'

'I still have one minute twenty,' Sherlock replied blandly.

'To do what?' The Doctor turned the sonic on the Dalek. He flicked it to eyelevel and studied the readings suspiciously. His eyes grew wider and he jumped forwards, knocking on the Dalek's head. 'No, no nonono! You can't do that! Stop it!'

'Doctor, I am currently in possession of a machine with destructive capacity equivalent to a tank. I do not think you are in a position to dictate terms to me,' Sherlock said coldly. The gun attachment jerked in the Doctor's direction with a screech. The Doctor jumped back out of range, still protesting.

'No, no no! That's not fair, you can't do that! Just because you're temporarily an alien psychopathic killing machine with the power to destroy worlds, you still have to listen to me!'

'One minute,' the Dalek said.

The Doctor backed into the TARDIS, still arguing. 'Oh, we are _so_ going to talk about this when you're human!'

The doors closed behind him.

The TARDIS medbay was warm, clean and filled with the comforting whirr of machines. John didn't know what half of the equipment did. He dropped Sherlock onto a pallet bed and looked around for any kind of scanning equipment.

There was a bleep and a screen on the wall above the bed lit up, data scrolling down it in – thank heavens – English, at a speed which he could read.

John scanned the text, checking the diagnoses as far as he was able. He couldn't see any sign of scanning equipment so he had no idea how the device was reaching its conclusions.

The Doctor bounded in and joined him, pressing buttons and switches, pulling screens around to show more data.

'He's not breathing, Doctor,' John said with remarkable composure. 'His pulse is flagging. Do you have a ventilator?'

The Doctor didn't respond, just dragged over a machine that didn't look anything like the ventilators John was used to and then pulled an oxygen mask from the side. John helped him to secure it over Sherlock's face and the screen beeped, a line of text going from red to green.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. 'OK. We need, we need…'

'We need to get him to a hospital,' John said sharply. The Doctor shook his head.

'No, no, no! We have… twenty seconds. We just need to keep him alive for twenty more seconds!'

'What, and then it's alright if he dies?' John snapped back sarcastically.

'No! He'll be fine, we have twenty seconds before he has to come back. I mean, he should be fine, he could be fine, he's just stupid and stubborn…'

'I have no idea what you're talking about, but it sounds like Sherlock,' John quipped with a desperate calmness he didn't feel.

The Doctor ran his hands through his hair again. 'Sherlock's mind is still in the Dalek. Every moment he's away, his body is basically brain dead. As long as you keep him on oxygen, and make sure he has plenty of fluids, he's fine. Just a coma patient. As soon as he comes back, he'll wake up.'

'And why hasn't he woken up yet?' John busied himself looking through cupboards, cabinets, and futuristic shelving units until he found – thank goodness – a normal, Earth, 21st century IV line and a bag of saline.

The Doctor snatched the bag from him. 'Don't use that, it's highly toxic to humans and will only work on beings from planets in the Gamma 8 quadrant.'

'It looks like saline,' John opined, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

'Yes, well, it is saline, just not the kind suitable for humans,' the Doctor said distractedly as he threw it into the corner and dived into the nearest cabinet. Literally. Clearly they, also, were bigger on the inside.

John opened his mouth to argue, then decided to ignore it in favour of saving Sherlock's life. He caught the identical bag of fluid that the Doctor threw his way, hooking it up to the IV line and fitting it to the stand.

'So why isn't he back yet?' John asked as he hooked Sherlock up to the IV drip.

The Doctor pulled himself out of the cabinet and jumped up, dusting himself down. 'Because he is busy altering the course of history and creating a paradox by absorbing the kind of information that would destroy causality!' He mimed an explosion with his hands, making a childish sound effect to match. 'Boom, there goes the Universe again, whose fault was it this time? Sherlock Holmes', actually, because he couldn't keep his mind to himself!' The Doctor ran his hand over his face, making a face of furious concentration. 'I mean, every time this happens, and it isn't like I don't _tell _you people. Don't go around reading things, don't try and look up your own future, and for heaven's sake _try_ to avoid being abducted and converted into a psychopathic killing machine by a race of soulless genetic mutants!' He paused for a moment. 'Amazing how often that happens, actually. Might want to look into that.'

John blinked and shook his head, dismissing most of the Doctor's babble. 'Look, Doctor, can't you just, I don't know, wake him up?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'It's all up to him now, John. There's nothing I can do. But he has to leave that Dalek before the other Daleks reach him, or he'll be exterminated.'

'Well, won't his mind just come back here?' John said desperately.

The Doctor shook his head slowly. 'The Daleks use a kind of total psychic transfer. He's a part of the Dalek, not just operating it. If he dies in that body…'

John sat down on a nearby chair firmly. 'He's not going to die, Doctor. He's an idiot, but he's not suicidal. Technically.'

'Only technically?'

'You wouldn't think it to watch him. He's been known to go without food for a week just because he was too busy thinking to eat.'

The Doctor was clearly not listening, staring into space. Suddenly, he straightened up, so quickly that John jumped.

'John,' the Doctor said slowly, as he frantically scanned the information on the screen above the bed and pulled out the sonic to double check readings, 'how long has it been?'

John blinked at the question. 'What? I don't…'

'It's been over twenty seconds, long over twenty seconds,' the Doctor explained quickfire. 'And he's not back.'

John controlled his reaction carefully, keeping his face steady. Only a brief flicker of emotion showed before he was checking the readings, taking a pulse and trying to think of something to do.

The Doctor stood back. 'Physically, he's totally stable, John, don't worry.'

'Don't _worry_? What am I meant to be doing, then, Doctor?' John sniped back, still doing anything he could to make himself feel useful.

'John, don't-' the Doctor began. Whatever he was about to say was lost as the entire room jerked and wobbled. John, thrown sideways, grabbed a bed to steady himself. Luckily, they all seemed to be attached to the floor and the cases, cabinets and instruments likewise. Sherlock flopped to one side, but didn't fall, and the Doctor went flying. _You'd have thought he'd be used to this, given his driving_, John thought bitterly.

The Doctor pushed himself back up again, already gabbling. 'No, no no! That shouldn't have happened, why's that happened? We're not moving, shouldn't be moving.' He pointed the sonic at the ceiling and read off the result. 'What do you mean the shielding failed three centuries back? I only repaired it…' he tailed off and paused for a moment. 'It shouldn't be gone already!'

John's attention was diverted by another shake and he grabbed at the bed again. The Doctor staggered but remained upright. The lighting changed to dark purple and a bell started to toll.

The Doctor sprinted to a switch set in the wall which he could have sworn wasn't there earlier. Slamming it down, the Timelord leaned against the wall as he yelled. 'Voice command activate!'

A change in pitch of the hum of the ship heralded this announcement. The Doctor straightened his bowtie. 'Oh, shut up. I know. Autopilot on!'

The ship stilled and quieted slightly. The bell continued to toll but the lights returned to normal. 'Thank you,' the Doctor announced. 'Take us out of here. Somewhere safe and boring.' He pronounced the last word with distaste.

'Doctor!' John's voice sounded from behind him.

The Doctor spun. 'Right, yes, sorry about that. Must have been a massive environmental shift, an explosion or something. Shields should have maintained a stable internal environment but I may have ever so slightly rerouted them to provide a boost to the main navigation circuit and get me out of a nasty situation involving two black holes and a temporal anomaly and forgotten to put it back afterwards. I've put her onto autopilot for now, she's a clever old girl and she can get us away from a debris field or aftershocks or whatever, but I really need to nip down to the console room and make sure that the universe doesn't accidentally explode.'

At this point, he noticed that John was ignoring him. The reason for this became obvious when Sherlock sat up awkwardly, as though he was used to a different set of motor muscles, and began to remove the IV line. John pointedly replaced it and began remonstrating with the detective.

'You aren't going anywhere. Dehydration and muscular degeneration and some loss of motor functions are more serious than they sound.'

Sherlock seemed to be thoroughly unimpressed by these strictures. 'John, I'll be fine.'

'Who's the doctor here?' John demanded.

The Doctor cleared his throat. 'Me, actually. John…' He came closer, scanning the display readout quickly. 'You're right, he needs rest. And some food. Keep him on the IV for fluids and saline but in about half an hour he can start eating.'

'Good luck with that,' John muttered. 'I've been trying to get him to eat for years.' He turned back to Sherlock, who was trying to stand up and finding that his legs weren't up to the task.

The Doctor chose that moment to vanish to the console room, ignoring John's request for a sedative.

The console room was quiet and serene, the familiar hum of the TARDIS filling the air. The Doctor, having shut off the alarms, swung himself down below the main console and began to concentrate on replacing and repairing the shields.

Some time later, he heard footsteps approaching. Without looking up, the Doctor reached for another wire as he said, 'Hello, John.'

The human sat down on the floor of the time machine opposite him. The two doctors sat in silence for a moment, before the Timelord chose to break the quiet.

'You know, Sherlock's amazingly brave,' he began.

John snorted. 'Meaning stupid.'

'That too.'

Another pause.

'The explosion,' John began. 'That was…'

'Ship self destruct,' the Doctor said quietly. 'When a Dalek sets off the countdown and locks it, it can't be overridden.'

John nodded. 'It's the kind of thing he'd do.'

'I don't know how he lasted an extra two minutes. I wouldn't put it past him to fool the Daleks into thinking he was on their side for as long as it took to destroy the ship.' The Doctor connected two wires together and they sparked, burning his finger. 'Ow!' He pulled off his goggles, glaring up at the ship. 'Not necessary!'

'So he's fine now?' John questioned.

The Doctor looked up, as though surprised. 'Hm? Should be. Mind like his, I'm amazed he didn't end up taking over the Daleks instead of the other way around.'

'No side effects?'

'Not unless he starts feeling a deep hatred towards all forms of life aside from himself and attempting to take over the world.'

'With Sherlock, I'm not sure we'd notice a difference.' John looked up at the sound of more footsteps. 'And here he is.'

Sherlock easily swung himself down to the TARDIS lower levels and frowned at the Doctor. 'Can I help?'

The Doctor glared at him. 'Normally I'd say that it's beyond you, but a human who's been taking lessons from the Daleks…'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I'm not going to destroy the universe. One of the things I learnt was how not to cause a paradox that will rip apart time and space.'

'Taking lessons from the Daleks?' John's voice was politely enquiring with an undertone of _What the hell have you done this time, Sherlock?_

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. 'Not important.'

'Yes, important!' The Doctor was indignant. 'You had all of three minutes when you could have returned to your own body and you chose to stick around and start learning things that humans shouldn't discover for, well, ever!'

Sherlock returned his gaze with a calculated air of innocence. 'It was an opportunity. I took it.'

The Doctor raised his hands in despair. 'Oh, well, that makes it all OK again, doesn't it?'

'Yes, it does,' Sherlock said evenly.

The Doctor waited for a moment before sighing in defeat. 'Fine. But if I find out that the course of history has mysteriously been altered, I know _exactly_ who to blame, OK?'

Sherlock just began to reconnect wires without responding. The Doctor hovered anxiously until he was sure that Sherlock knew what he was doing, before returning to his own bundle of repairs.


End file.
